


Emergency Contact Number

by methylviolet10b



Series: Emergency Contact Number [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade gets a call. Lestrade makes a call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emergency Contact Number

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in response to the prompt: "Midnight Summons" as part of a month-long series of challenges. The stories in this series feature whumpage, angst, description of injuries, and highly improbable actions. Specific fics in this series come with additional warnings. If any of the above isn't your kind of thing, this might not be the story series for you. Nothing to see here, move along...

The phone rang, jolting Lestrade from his doze. _Dropped off in front of the telly again_ , he realized blearily even as he fumbled for his mobile. The clock on the wall ticked over to 12:00 a.m..“Yes?” he answered, voice still husky from sleep.

Seconds later, he sat bolt upright, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. “Shit. Are you sure?” Even as he said the words, he shook his head, even though he knew the caller couldn’t see him. “No, no, forget I asked. You wouldn’t have called me otherwise. Where?” He listened, taking in the details as his mind flew ahead, planning, considering. “Right. Thanks. I’ll take care of it from here. I owe you.”

He ended the call and stared at the plastic in his hand. One finger hovered over the speed-dial for a familiar number, one he had memorized long since. He called it, holding his breath.

No answer.

He hesitated, thinking, then fiddled with the buttons, opening the contacts to find a carefully-saved but never-used number. _First time for everything,_ he thought, and stabbed his finger down on the call function.

The phone answered on the first ring, despite the hour. “Good evening, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I’d ask to what do I owe the pleasure, but your calling me for the first time, at this hour, suggests that it’s unpleasant.” The voice, so like his brother’s in some ways, held no surprise, no tension, and absolutely no bloody indication it was just past midnight. “What has happened?”

“I just got a call from a friend of mine at…never mind, the important thing is that they just identified one of the victims of a multi-vehicle collision as a John H. Watson. He’s already in surgery. I tried calling Sherlock, but no answer. Do you know…?” His voice trailed off.

There was dead silence for several seconds. “According to surveillance, my brother is at home in the flat. John Watson had gone out to spend the evening with some former Army colleagues. And no, I did _not_ know.” The sudden bite in those last four words boded ill for someone. “I’m looking into it now. Thank you, Inspector. My car will be at your door in ten minutes.”

The connection went dead. Lestrade stared at his phone for a moment, then struggled out of his chair.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 10, 2011


End file.
